The Trials Of Timothy
by ceilidh65
Summary: A series of 'one-shots' inspired by a promo still from The Inside Man, reflecting the many trials of Tim McGee. As always, I hope you enjoy - please R&R if you do!
1. Chapter 1 Cursed

The Trials Of Timothy by ceilidh

A/N: Hello again, all, and welcome to my latest story!

Now, as with Unbreakable, I've written this _before_ seeing The Inside Man. The idea for it came purely from a truly wonderful promo shot from that episode - the mug shot of McGee after he's been 'arrested'.

I'm sure I'm not the only one who looked at that 'oh, boy' expression, and imagined what Tim was thinking: "_Mom's gonna kill me... mom's gonna kill me... mom's gonna kill me_..."

So this is the first of what, I hope, will be a series of little one-shots, reflecting those moments in Tim's life where... well, when he's been in deep, _deep_ trouble.

The first, of course, just _has_ to feature Sarah. If Twisted Sister is anything to go by, she must have been the kid sister from hell when she was little. I know I was :o)

As always, I hope you enjoy - and if anyone has any suggestions, or special situations for me to put poor Timothy 'on trial' for, please let me know!!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Trials Of Timothy

Chapter One - Cursed

"_Tiiiiiiiim_!!"

As that whiny voice sneaked under his bedroom door, Tim McGee rolled his eyes in resignation. Jeez, did kid sisters have some kind of unique gene, for them to make life hell for their big brothers?

Maybe he'd raise that point in class tomorrow. See if it was scientifically possible to remove it.

"_Tiiii--_iiimmy!!!"

_If_ he ever found a quiet, kid-sister-free zone where he could actually study for that class, in undisturbed peace.

Yeah, right. That thought wasn't even half way through before a mini tornado swept into his room – piles of painstakingly written notes wobbling dangerously sideways as Sarah bounced onto his bed.

Big brother patience, _hell_! Damn it, he'd spent half the afternoon writing out these notes, and now –

"_Sarah_!!!"

– and now the most annoying six year old on the planet had sent them flying in all directions.

All that work, all that painstaking study, now lay strewn over his bed in a hopelessly jumbled mess of paper. Little wonder, then, that Tim's already frayed patience now snapped as he tried to re-stack them – making an equally frustrated point of then placing them, sensibly safely, on an _especially_ high shelf.

"_Damn_ it, Sarah, be careful! I've spent all day on these, and I _don_'_t_ have time to do them again!!"

Was there the slightest chance that she'd obey him, go away, and leave him alone to work in peace? Like hell there was. In fact, the infuriating smirk on her face now grew even more infuriatingly wider.

"Timmy, you – you _swore_!" she crowed, gleefully following that score-point up with the ultimate threat.

"_I_'_m_ telling mommy-"

"You do, Squirt, and I'll hang you up _there_ by your pigtails-" Tim shot back, pointing up to the ceiling – allowing himself just a trace of a triumphant smile, for his own combination of parental inheritance.

His placid shyness, and seemingly endless patience, may have come from his mother, but for height – yes, as his six foot plus father had proudly observed, his firstborn son was _definitely_ a McGee.

He'd only just turned sixteen, but he was already taller than mom, and already on eye level with dad.

If he stood on his bed, as he did now, and levered himself onto his toes, he could _just_ touch the ceiling. So yes, this playful threat to hang his pesky kid sister from it by her pigtails wasn't _that_ implausible. And as the budding scientist in him already knew, nothing proved the theory better than the practical.

Grabbing Sarah around her waist, he then hoisted her, squealing and shrieking, above his head – teenage exuberance, and six year old wriggliness, combining to prove another law of physics.

Every action had an equal, and opposite, reaction. Movement, of _any_ kind, _always_ had consequences. And standing on your bed, swinging your kid sister towards your ceiling, had an inevitable result. All it took was the tiniest loss of balance, and Newton's Law of Gravity was painfully proved.

So was that part of Murphy's Law that seemed to apply purely to already tormented big brothers – providing Sarah with the much softer landing as she crashed, full force, onto Tim's chest.

Any protest he might have justifiably made was lost in the air that now whooshed painfully from his lungs. And to add sisterly insult to brotherly injury, _she_ was the one who had the nerve to start screaming.

"_Moooooommm-mmmmyyyyy_!!!"

Oh, great. Not content with ruining his study, _and_ breaking his ribs, now she'd deafened him too.

Yeah, like he could ever be that lucky. He could already hear their mother, sprinting up the stairs. So yes, Tim knew his fate was sealed. He knew what was about to happen. He knew who she'd yell at.

He knew what to ruefully groan.

"Awww, _jeez_!! Mom's gonna _kill_ me-"


	2. Chapter 2 A Recipe For Disaster

The Trials Of Timothy by ceilidh

A/N: Hello, all, and welcome to the second chapter for this ongoing story. I had _great_ fun writing this - I hope you enjoy it too. And if you've ever wondered how much mischief Tim might have got up to when he was little, then - well, read on!!

Oh, and I must thank spnMom for the review, and four excellent suggestions for further chapters. Yes, they've made my infamous plot-bunnies very happy indeed, so stay tuned!

In the meantime... now then, young Timothy, what _are_ you up to?!?

The Trials Of Timothy

Chapter Two - A Recipe For Disaster

Making breakfast, Tim McGee was rapidly discovering, was not as easy as mommy made it to look.

Of course, he could just have made up her favourite cereal, and taken it to her on a tray, with a vase of her favourite flowers. But Mother's Day only came once a year, and he wanted to make her special day… well, _really_ special.

And nothing showed your mom how much you loved her better than a big plate of freshly made pancakes.

At least, that was how the mind of a budding six year old chef tended to work, but in big, grown up reality – well, suddenly the combination of flour, eggs, milk and butter was a deceptively complicated business.

A messy one too, Tim thought, studying the sticky bowls, and even stickier spatulas, in front of him. And he really didn't want to think what was sliding, in a trickle of disgusting goo, through his hair – especially since mom had just paid a fortune to get that fluffily unruly mop cut into some kind of order.

Her threat to tie him to their stylist's chair to keep him still had flown _waaaaaay_ over his newly shorn head. Even to a six year old who'd already advanced to second grade, humour was still a confusing concept.

She'd been teasing him, he was _sure_ she'd been teasing him, but… well, moms could be tricky things. They kissed and cuddled you one minute, then yelled at you to clear up your room the next, and – hmmm, maybe that was why dad spent so much time away at sea, so that she couldn't yell at _him_.

When he got bigger, _much_ bigger, he'd join the Navy too, and sail around the world – just like daddy.

Tim just wished he was as big as daddy now, so he could reach this cupboard without this stupid chair. He just needed to find that flour again, so he could make some more of this batter, and… uh-oh.

Stretching up on tippy-toes made you wobble, and this chair was getting _awfully_ wobbly beneath him. A big bag of flour in buttery fingers was real slippery, too, and that only made you wobble even more.

The more frantically he tried to stop it, the worse that wobbling became, and then he started to fall – finding out, the painful way, how this 'gravity' thing from his last science class actually worked.

Falling off a chair, and landing on your butt, made a lot of noise. And it hurt. It _really_ hurt.

A big bag of flour landing on your head hurt too. It also made a really big mess that went _everywhere_.

It flew into the air. Up your nose. Over your clothes. Through your hair. It even reached the ceiling.

It covered your mom's once spotless kitchen in layers of powdery white on top of splodgery goo – leading Tim to an inevitably tearful conclusion as he heard a familiar voice anxiously calling his name.

"_Tim_?!?"

"Awwwww, mommy's gonna be mad-"

She was certainly fast – running so quickly into the kitchen that she had to skid to a stop. Then she went quiet. Staring at him, wide eyed and open mouthed, mommy went very, _very_, quiet.

And since that quiet usually turned into a _lot_ of yelling, Tim decided the best thing to do now was –

"_Mooomm-mmmy_!!!"

– beat mommy to it, and do some genuinely needed, and hopefully butt-saving, yelling of his own. His butt was hurting painfully enough as it was, without a motherly spanking to make it worse.

So when mommy finally rushed towards him, he didn't know if she was mad at him or not – her questions flying at him so quickly, and anxiously, that Tim didn't know which one to answer first.

"_Tim_?!? Did _you_ make all this mess? What on earth were you doing? Are you hurt?!?"

Logically, of course, he should answer that first question first, and admit what he'd done. But if he answered that last question instead, he'd get a _lot_ more sympathy. _Maybe_ even a cuddle.

"My – My leg hurts-" he sniffed at last, pointing to an already darkening bruise on his left knee – following that appeal for a comforting mommy-cuddle with the honesty that already ruled his heart.

"'m – 'm sorry, mommy, I – I was making you breakfast, for mommy's day, an'… an' I fell, and… and I'm too little, mommy. Don' _wanna_ be little, mommy. Wanna be big-"

For the second time in the same minute, Diana McGee stared down at her son in stunned silence.

Met with those massive green eyes, that seemed too big for his face, and those sweetly gooey-fied cheeks – well, any anger she might have felt now subsided into helpless laughter as she lifted him into her lap, and wrapped him into a gentle hug.

"Oh, sweetie… you're the best mommy's day present _this_ mommy could ever ask for…"

Snuggling happily into her arms, Tim still wasn't sure if mommy was mad at him or not, but – hmmmm, for some strange reason, blinking up at her, and pouting out his lower lip, made her laugh.

So the next time mommy got mad, and started yelling at him… yes, now Tim McGee knew _exactly_ what to do.


	3. Chapter 3 Green Eyed Monster

The Trials Of Timothy by ceilidh

A/N:- Hello, all, and welcome to my latest trial for poor Timothy.

Now, we all know how protective Tim is towards Sarah, but - well, you can't help but wonder if that was always the case. After all, there's quite a large age gap between them, and when Sarah arrived, it must have caused a lot of disruption to Tim's life.

So here's my idea on a time in Tim's life when he wasn't _quite_ the perfect big brother that he is to Sarah now.

As always, I hope you enjoy!

The Trials Of Timothy

Chapter Three - Green Eyed Monster

Tim McGee studied the squirming bundle in his mother's lap, and pulled a face of sulking disgust. Dumb baby. Why had mom and dad made him a sister anyway? He'd never _asked_ them for one.

He'd told them he wanted a chemistry set for his recent birthday, and instead they'd given him… _this_. A pink and ugly blob that screamed when she was hungry, screamed when she _wasn't_ hungry, and – yeah, she made all sorts of stinky smells too, that could put you off even your most favourite dinner.

Everyone thought she was a darling. Everyone kept cooing that she was sweet, and cute, and adorable.

Tim didn't, though. Until _she'd_ come along, he'd been their sweet, and cute, and adorable darling.

He was too young, of course, to understand the concept of jealousy, or understand why the colour of his eyes had anything to do with it, but… oh yes, he had it, alright. His new baby sister was a pain in her stinky rear end, _especially_ when you were trying to watch TV.

Bugs Bunny was just about to start, and… well, Tim was determined to watch it in peaceful quiet. And in his straightforward, just-turned-ten mind, there was only one way to do it.

"Tim? Why are you pointing the remote at your little sister?"

Tim stared at that. He'd always thought his dad was _really_ cool, and _really_ smart. Hm, apparently not. It was clearly up to him, a _supposedly_ smart kid, to explain the obvious to a _supposedly_ smarter adult.

"'cos she's making too much noise, and I'm trying to turn her off-"

Okay, now this was starting to get _really_ annoying. He was trying to make a serious point here!

But mom had burst out laughing, announcing through helpless splutters that she had to check dinner – and dad, for reasons that confused and hurt him even more, was fighting to keep his face straight too.

For a confused, increasingly frustrated ten year old, it was too much. Tim McGee had had enough.

"It – It isn't funny!" he screamed, hurling the remote to the floor so hard that it actually bounced – stunning his parents even more as he shrugged off their attempts to stop him and ran out of the room, yelling another fit of tearful temper in his wake.

"I don't _want_ a little sister, she's – she's noisy, and smelly, and I hate her! I hate her, I hate her, I _hate_ her!!"

By the time he reached his room, Tim was running so fast that he crashed straight through its door – leaving it to bang back on its hinges as he threw himself onto his bed, crying so hard that his whole body shook with its effort.

So he didn't hear that door close quietly behind him, or react at first to his father's equally quiet voice.

"Tim? We need to talk, son-"

Talking was the last thing Tim wanted to do right now, but… well, he didn't dare to defy his father. And he knew he was in enough trouble already. So, still crying, he finally turned around and sat up, nervously watching his father move towards him while bracing himself for his inevitable punishment.

"Y's – Y's, sir-" he whispered, fighting to control the stammer that, to his dismay, only grew worse. "'m – 'm sorry, dad… I – I guess y-you an'… an' mom, you – you must be pr-pretty mad at me-"

He was expecting a stern telling off, for sure, for being so bratty – maybe even a gentle butt-whup. So it was a real surprise when his father smiled instead, strangely sadly, as he came to sit beside him.

It was 'the talk' that Kyle McGee knew they had to have. One, he guiltily realized, that was long overdue.

"No, son, we're not mad at you. I know this must be… well, confusing for you, Tim, and frustrating-" he said at last, ruffling Tim's hair, something he knew his son loved, before drawing him into a gently reassuring hug.

"Sarah's getting all this fuss and attention, and… yes, son, I know you've been kinda left out of it. I know that must make it feel like we don't care about you, but… I promise you, Tim, that we _do_. Your mom and me love you very, _very_ much, and we'd never do anything deliberately to hurt you. I know you've been ignored, son, and I promise your mom and I will make up for that, and make sure it doesn't happen any more. Okay?"

It had been quite a speech. As he'd hoped, his son had listened, through easing tears, and wide-eyed surprise, to every word.

It was a precious breakthrough, a tentative smile even more so, but… well, as he also knew, they weren't quite home and dry yet. One way or another, his boy needed to bond with his baby sister, and… well, he couldn't do it alone.

So yes, he needed the security of a fatherly hand as they went back downstairs into the living room – the same hand that ruffled his hair, in gentle approval, for another moment of crucial, mutual forgiveness.

Wrapped in a mommy-cuddle that gently forgave him, that magically soothed away more inevitable tears, Tim then sat up – staring in surprise as five tiny fingers wrapped themselves around his pinkie, and refused to let it go.

That surprise was nothing, though, against what he felt when that pink, wrinkly face then broke into a gurgling smile. And to his complete astonishment, Tim found himself smiling back - basking in his father's words of quiet, encouraging pride.

"It's okay, son, she's just getting used to holding onto things. And she knows you're her big brother, so she knows when she holds onto you, you'll keep her safe-"

Enthralled now by this tiny hand holding onto him, Tim just nodded. His bratty baby sister suddenly looked so small, so vulnerable, and in that moment of realization – yes, all the resentment, and anger, and bitterness that he'd felt for so long towards her melted away.

She was trusting him to protect her, and… yes, Tim now silently promised her, he'd _always_ do that.


	4. Chapter 4 Up A Very Big Tree

The Trials Of Timothy by ceilidh

A/N: Hello, all, and welcome to the latest instalment!

I thought I'd dip into the show a bit for this one, and give you my idea on why Tim is so terrified of heights. After seeing Power Down last week, he also seems a bit twitchy about confined spaces, so my famous plot bunnies got to work over the weekend, and came up with this.

As always, I hope you enjoy!

The Trials Of Timothy

Chapter Four - Up A _Very_ Big Tree

For such a _supposedly_ smart kid, Tim McGee ruefully told himself, I can be _real_ dumb sometimes.

Oh, it had been a great idea at the time, for him to take that frantically twittering chick back to its nest. But now that he was up here, with emphasis on the 'up' part, perched on a worryingly thin branch – no, Tim was coming to the increasingly frightened conclusion that he'd been really, _really_, dumb.

That nest was higher, _much_ higher, than it had looked from the ground, and now that he'd reached it – well, now that perception of height and perspective had gone through an increasingly scary reversal.

The frame of branches that had guided him up here, too, was now a maze of criss-crossing wood. And if there was one thing Tim hated, along now with bluebird chicks and heights, it was mazes.

Dad had taken him to one several weeks earlier, as a treat for his birthday, and – oh, he'd _hated_ it. Frustrated by its complexity, and totally disoriented by walls of towering corn, he'd started to panic – tearfully flinging himself into his startled father's arms, and crying helplessly all the way home.

He'd been in such a state that mom had put him straight to bed, and dad had sat up with him all night – guiltily adding 'claustrophobia' to his son's alarmingly growing list of childhood terrors.

At this rate, he'd need therapy, and – hell, he'd thought, no nine year old should need to see a damn shrink.

Now, as Tim cranked one eye open and peered nervously downwards, 'height' was added to that list, and Tim could feel himself start to shake, his eyes welling with helpless tears, as the true extent of his predicament sunk in.

It really was a long way down to that leaf-covered yard, and… uh-oh. He'd forgotten all about that. He'd been sent to sweep the yard out, clearing up all those slippery leaves so that mommy could safely hang out the laundry. No wonder she sounded so cross as she strode through it with her latest load, and found the yard still covered with semi-swept leaves.

"Tim? Tim, where are you? Why haven't you swept this yard? Tim? _Timothy_!!"

Oh, when she used his full name like that, in that tone of voice, Tim knew his mom meant business – leading him to quote the cruelly obvious as he realized that he was now in _two_ lots of serious trouble.

"Awww, mommy's _real_ mad-"

"_Timothy_!!"

Oh, she was mad alright. When mom used that bullwhip voice, even dad hunted for somewhere to hide. And if she was this mad at him just for neglecting his chores, how mad would she be at him for _this_?

There was only one way to find out, of course. Just as there was only one way to get down from this tree.

"Moomm-mmmyyyy, I'm up here!! 'm – 'm stuck, mommy, an' I'm scared, an'… an' I – I can't get down!"

Her reaction, when she finally realized where he was, wasn't quite what Tim had expected. Instead of yelling at him, she called up to him, very gently, as she quickly re-traced her steps back to the house.

"Tim, do _exactly_ as mommy says. Hold on, _real_ tight, and I'll be _right_ back with daddy. Okay?"

Crying too much now to answer, Tim just nodded, following that order to the very last letter by wrapping both arms, and legs, around his branch. Closing his eyes felt like a good idea too. Tear-trickling darkness felt much better than dizzying light.

Those eyes stayed shut, too, for the whole time it took his father to climb carefully up to his side – not daring to open, for many equally painful reasons, throughout his gently whispered order to 'hold on, son, _real_ tight'.

Instead, clinging to his father like a four-limbed limpet, he listened to its soft, comforting follow-up as he felt himself being carried slowly downwards.

"That's it, son. Attaboy, Tim, we're almost down, just hold on now. Hold tight, Tim, that's it-"

Even when that downward movement stopped, and forward movement took over, Tim held on tight – his eyes staying equally tightly closed until his mother's anxious voice finally persuaded him to open them.

"Tim? It's okay, honey, you're safe now. It's alright, Tim, open your eyes now, it's okay. You're back in the house now, it's all over-"

He might have been safe now, laid out on the couch, and snuggled up between his anxiously watching parents, but Tim was still shaking – so sure that he was still in serious trouble that he was stunned when his father gently told him otherwise.

"It's okay, son, we're not mad at you. We just need to know why you climbed up that tree-"

Thrown for a moment, Tim then pointed a still shaky finger towards the massive tree outside.

"I – I found a baby bluebird, on the ground, it – it had fallen out, from its nest, an'- an' I was trying to put it back-"

Several seconds passed as his parents stared at each other. Then, at last, his father smiled down at him, took a deep breath, and gently ruffled his hair.

"That was a lovely thought, Tim, and I know you love your wildlife, but… well, from now on, you let me do that instead. Okay?"

Still stunned by this reprieve, too grateful not to accept it, Tim just smiled back at him and nodded, snuggling a bit deeper into the comfort of his father's shoulder. He might not be quite the 'wonder-kid' that everyone kept saying he was, but at that moment – yes, staring out at that tree, realizing the danger he'd been in, Tim knew he was certainly the _luckiest_.


	5. Chapter 5 Mommy's Little Helper

The Trials Of Timothy by ceilidh

A/N: Hello again, and - hmm, this little ficlet series is proving quite addictive! There are so many wonderful possibilities for little Timmy to get into trouble, but - well, this one was just irresistible!

I'm sure there are lots of mommies who have gone through this experience - I know mine did! So on with the chaos - and, as always, I hope you enjoy :o)

The Trials Of Timothy

Chapter Five - Mommy's Little Helper

Being kept home from school, Tim McGee ruefully noted, wasn't as much fun as he'd first thought. It had been nice at first, having mommy fussing over him, nursing him through this awful cold, but – well, he was feeling _much_ better today, and being stuck indoors like this just wasn't fun any more.

Daytime TV didn't hold much interest either, for an eight year old who was now really, _really_, bored.

It would have been better, of course, if mom had been able to watch some of it with him, but – well, with dad away at sea again, she'd been left to take care of the house, _and_ him, all by herself.

She was good at it, too, she always had been, but – well, Tim was sure she'd still appreciate some help.

So far, she'd done all the cleaning, dusting, and given the vacuum cleaner its usual, thorough workout. With changing the beds, of course, she still had a _lot_ of laundry left to do, and – yes, he'd do that. Even if he couldn't manage to carry all those massive sheets by himself, he could do the 'little' stuff – including his blankie which, after all the comforting it had done while he'd been sick, was now _really_ icky.

And it was only a _little_ blankie, so Tim was sure it would still fit in mommy's big new washy machine.

Clambering off the couch, Tim then glanced back at his _other_ 'comfort-companion' and frowned. Mr Wuggles looked _awful_ grubby, and – yes, Tim decided, picking him up, _he_'_d_ get a good wash too.

Armed with bear, and blankie, he then trotted into the kitchen and glanced around for his mother – pulling a face as he caught sight of her through the main window, fastening up the laundry line.

Hmmm, she was right down at the other end of the yard, too, chatting over the fence with Mrs Haley. And since she'd told him to stay inside, Tim knew she'd only tell him off if he went out to fetch her.

Still, he was sure he knew how to work her washy machine, he'd watched her use it loads of times. And everyone kept telling mom how smart he was. Now he could prove it, and help mommy out too.

If he could dismantle their VCR and, to his parents' amazement, put it all back together again – yes, even if mommy wasn't there, Tim was pretty sure he could manage a little bit of laundry.

All he had to do was put the 'dirties' into the big spinny thing, close the door, then pour in the soap. Not too much, though, because it was consy… consen… hmmm, that big 'c' word for _really_ strong.

Luckily there was a little line on the bottle's cap, to say how much to use, so… yes, that should do it.

Promising Mr Wuggles that getting nice and clean would be fun, and _wouldn_'_t_ hurt, Tim then frowned. Well, he'd never been in a washy-machine before, so he had to make sure he was nice and comfy – a heap of daddy's socks, and his own blankie, giving Mr Wuggles something especially soft to sit on.

Checking that he'd put in all the 'little dirties' that he could, Tim then carefully closed the door – pushing it shut, until he heard it click, before kneeling up on his heels to read the menu of programs.

There was an awful lot of them, of course, and Tim frowned again as he tried to find the right one. Even for a little load of tea towels, daddy's pants, blankies and bears, there was a _lot_ to choose from.

Finally making his choice, Tim pushed the start button, then settled back for his most favourite bit – giggling happily as he watched Mr Wuggles bounce up to the top, down to the bottom, then around and around in the water.

Mr Wuggles seemed to be enjoying it too, and – oh yes, this was _much_ better than boring old TV!

He was still laughing when his mother returned - turning to greet her with a bright, excited smile.

"Look, mommy! I'm washing daddy's dirties, _and_ my blankie, _and_ Mr Wuggles, all by myself!!"

Still mesmerised by the sight of a teddy bear whizzing around in her washing machine, Diana McGee just nodded – not knowing whether to laugh, cry, or groan in realization, for what she already knew had happened.

If he'd put in _all_ his father's underwear, with that bright red blankie, then that could only mean –

– a pile of pink tighty-whities, and equally tinted boxers, that now led to fits of helpless laughter.

She _could_ yell at him, of course, but against such triumphant innocence – no, she just couldn't do it. That face alone, and those massive bright eyes, made any kind of anger towards her 'little helper' completely impossible.

Instead, still laughing, she knelt down beside him, drawing him into her lap for a gently proud cuddle.

"Thank you, sweetie, that's… um, really helped mommy out. And if you're feeling _this_ better, then it's back to school tomorrow. Okay?"

Met with a blissfully innocent nod, she then grinned, fondly shaking her head while mentally planning out her jobs for the next day. After dropping her little helper off at school, she'd hit every menswear store that she could find. No self-respecting Naval officer could ever go to work in pink underwear.

And when she got home, she'd dig out her washing machine's manual, again, and set its child-lock up to 'advanced'.


	6. Chapter 6 Danger, Genius At Work

The Trials Of Timothy by ceilidh

A/N: Hello again, all, and seasons greetings!

Now, since it's Christmas, there's a real holiday feel to these two latest chapters. This one comes from a mishap that I've used in several of my earlier stories, while the second comes from one of my favourite season six episodes. If I say 'talking bear' and a truly priceless 'sorry, boss' moment, I'm sure you'll know which one!

For now, though, here's the idea from my very own, wickedly warped imagination. There aren't any spoilers as such, just another visit to Tim's family and... well, the Christmas Day mishap that they'll _never_ let him live down!

Enjoy!

The Trials Of Timothy

Chapter Six - Danger, Genius At Work

Tim McGee _loved_ Christmas. He loved helping his mother to decorate the house, and put up the tree. Like every child, he loved the excitement of opening his presents on Christmas morning – that phase of peeking through everyone's parcels, then re-wrapping them, now thankfully outgrown.

The best ones were those that he could take apart, to see how they worked, then put together again. Or, to the relief of his parents, who still couldn't believe what he'd done to their VCR, he'd just put his presents together, and then happily leave them alone.

For his last birthday, dad had gotten him a model of the Enterprise, complete with _fully_ working flight deck. He'd had _great_ fun with that. His dad, though, for some strange reason, had been kinda funny about it.

As Kyle McGee had dryly realized, being a father to a child genius could be _really_ frustrating. All that anticipation of some quality time with his boy, building that boat together, but it was not to be. Instead, he'd watched in rueful silence, then proud amazement, as his son had set to work beside him – the keel laid, and two decks slotted into place, before he'd even sorted through the instructions.

So much for traditional father son pastimes. But as Kyle McGee now knew, his was no ordinary son. Three years ahead of his classmates, and with a genius level IQ – yes, beyond all doubt, his kid _was_ special.

Glancing now, to where that impeccably made model took pride of place on the living room mantel, and then down to the chaotic scene in front of him, he felt his smile widen. His son might well be a child genius, but in so many other ways, and especially at Christmas – yes, he was still just your typical, hyper-excited little boy who just wanted to get at his presents.

To his parents' helpless amusement, pieces of painstakingly taped paper now flew in all directions. And when that present finally came into view – oh yes, his scrawny little boy could yell up there with the best of 'em.

"You – You _got_ it! Oh, mom… dad… _thanks_!! Wow, it's – it's _great!! J__ust_ what I wanted!!!"

Dryly adding 'earplugs' to next year's list of Christmas must-haves, his parents grinned back at him – his mother adding a gently restraining order before her living room turned into a full size chemistry lab.

"No, Tim, not in here. Take it into the kitchen, please, so you can wash up any spillages-"

Still too happy to argue, Tim just nodded, bundling piles of dishes and test tubes back into their box – pausing half way to the kitchen to run back, and joyously hug his laughing parents, before barrelling away again.

Watching him crash through the kitchen door, Kyle McGee glanced down at his wife and grinned.

"Genius at work-" he chuckled, taking advantage of this peaceful moment to hug her against him. "Though I hope you realize, now that he's in there, we might never get him _out-_"

"Mmm, I think lunch might be a little later than planned-" Diana agreed with an equally wry smile – rolling her eyes as her husband, every bit as smart as her son, handed her a bowl of nibblish pretzels.

"Hey, you said it yourself, we're going to have to wait for our lunch-" Kyle reminded her, his eyes glinting with curiously familiar mischief.

Rolling her eyes again, Diana then laughed too while snuggling further into her husband's side. Rather like their son, he knew just how to sweet-talk his way out of an argument, and –

*ka-_boom_*

– but even on active duty, he'd only blow his way out of trouble if he came under enemy fire.

Speaking of which, their own fire alarms were blaring now as both of them ran into the kitchen – both standing in its doorway, in open mouthed shock, at the smouldering chaos in front of them.

By the blessing of every god they knew, and some they didn't, their son was mercifully unhurt – staring back at them, his eyes owlishly wide, and helplessly scared, in a subtly blackened face.

It could have been worse, of course. It could have been much, _much_ worse. Tragically worse. And on such a special day of joyous happiness and thanksgiving, Kyle and Diana McGee both knew it.

So when they saw tears well up inside those terrified eyes, and saw how much their son was shaking, neither could let their natural shock or anger show. Instead, both hurried instinctively towards him, wrapping him into a protective, mutually forgiving cuddle as they tried to calm him down.

Beyond those soothing assurances, though, two silently shaken parents made a heartfelt agreement. Yes, they'd still continue to encourage their son, to help him develop his astonishing abilities – but after today, and they both knew that Tim would agree, there'd be _no_ _more_ chemistry sets.

From now on, Kyle McGee fervently promised himself, for the sake of _his_ safety, and their sanity, they'd stick to building boats.


	7. Chapter 7 Smarter Than The Average Bear

The Trials Of Timothy by ceilidh

A/N:- Hello again, everyone, and welcome to my second holiday story.

Now, as mentioned in my note for the last chapter, this one comes from Love And War, one of my favourite season six episodes. I just loved Tim's reaction to Beary Smiles, and how sweetly he remembered how much he'd wanted one. Of course, he didn't get the real thing in the end, but - well, how typically Tim to make his own :o)

So here's my idea on how Pooh-Two-Point-O came to be - and how Tim's father might have found out where his old tape recorder had gone.

As always, I hope you enjoy!

The Trials Of Timothy

Chapter Seven - Smarter Than The Average Bear

Sitting back on his heels to study his handiwork, Tim McGee allowed himself a satisfied smile. Okay, so it wasn't nearly as good as the real thing, but for a hastily improvised substitute –yes, his neatly modified childhood companion was still a triumph of resourceful ingenuity.

Just a few more tweaks to get the voice right, and Pooh-Two-Point-O would be ready to roll.

Focussed, completely, on that gentle tweaking, Tim had no idea that he was being silently watched – his wife's puzzled glance met with a smiling '_sssshhh-_' as Kyle McGee nodded into his study.

"Genius at work-" he said at last, joining her in chuckles of proudly loving laughter.

"When you said that _last_ year, he blew up the kitchen-" Diana reminded him with a teasing grin – taking advantage of the rueful silence that followed to beat a sensibly smart, still laughing retreat.

Pulling a suitable face in her wake, her husband then turned back to watch over their little Einstein – growing more serious as he realized how much his son had changed since that last, explosively eventful Christmas.

He'd only just turned twelve, but he was still growing up so fast. Growing up so frighteningly quickly. Kyle just hoped that he was simply growing up, as nature intended, and not growing away from him. As a Naval officer, committed to spending so much time away from his family, it was something he silently dreaded.

Every time he came back from his latest tour at sea, he'd noticed subtle changes in Tim's character. Yes, he was still kinda small, and scrawny. Yes, he was still painfully shy. But advancing so rapidly through his classes, his little baby boy was still years ahead of his time – hence the surprise he'd felt when he'd seen what had topped his genius son's list for Christmas.

Okay, so every kid on the base, not just his, kept raving on about it, but… jeez, a talking _bear_?!?

Whatever his feelings about it, though, there'd been no denying how much his son had wanted one – just as there'd been no hiding his disappointment when he'd unwrapped that final present so eagerly, but in such crushing vain. Yes, he had stacks of new books, toys, and games for his computer – but no treasured Beary Smiles.

He'd handled it well, though. Not made _too_ much of a fuss. His dad was justly proud of him for that. He was also intrigued by what had happened next. Why Tim had then smiled, asked to be excused, and trotted so quickly up to his room.

There'd been no sulkiness, or pre-teen tantrums, but – no, for all that, he was clearly up to something. And after last year's little mishap, Kyle had to make sure _this_ year's Christmas dinner stayed intact. If anything like it happened again, _both_ the men of the McGee household would be in _serious_ trouble.

Still smiling at the memory - hell, he just couldn't help it - Kyle moved quietly on into his study, ruefully noting that all hopes he'd had to catch up on some holiday paperwork had been thwarted.

Quite why his son's battered old Pooh Bear lay strewn, headless and limbless, over his desk defeated him, but – well, on the plus side, and unlike last year's little experiment, at least this time he hadn't exploded.

The many lessons of fatherhood, he thought through a wry smile, still watching his son at work. However much he begs you to get him one, never, _ever_, give your kid a chemistry set for Christmas.

Pooh Bears seemed to make a pretty good substitute, though, and… what the _hell_?!?

\\_Merry Christmas_, _Tim! __I_'_m Pooh-Two-Point-O_, _and I want to be your friend_//

Still thrown by his son's voice coming out from a stuffed Pooh Bear, Kyle then smiled in realization – adding a proud '_that_'_s_ _my boy_' afterthought as he moved closer to inspect that boy's latest stroke of twelve year old genius.

Okay, so he needed a few lessons in neat needlework from his mother, but for all that – no, for all those straggly knotted stitches, his son's makeshift dream present wasn't at all bad.

He'd even managed to make it talk too somehow, and… ah. Yes. Hm. That explained it.

Another rule now joined Kyle McGee's ever growing list of coping with a creative child genius. If you're going to keep some old tape recorder as a spare for its replacement, _don_'_t_ leave it lying around on your desk. As far as a creative child genius was concerned, _that_ made it fair game for his latest project.

His brilliant boy seemed to have telepathic 'uh-oh' talents too, since Tim now glanced up at him – the smile on his face shadowed by the realization that maybe, just maybe, his dad still needed that old recorder.

He really couldn't be angry, though – not when he saw the pure joy of achievement beyond it. Instead, he ruffled Tim's hair, cherishing the broad grin that it coaxed back onto his son's face, while keeping the still needed rebuke to its gentlest minimum.

"That's some pretty neat thinking, son, but… well, for _next_ time, you _check_ first. Okay?"

Met with a heartfelt nod, and a smile of sweetest innocence, Kyle McGee happily returned it. God only knew what mischief and mayhem lay beyond it, but… well, one thing was for sure. With this inventive mini-Einstein in the family, life in his household would _never_ be dull.


End file.
